


It's All Glamour And Guns In Outer Space

by lost_spook



Category: Blake's 7, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Awesome Jenna Stannis, Awesome Servalan, Crossover, Gen, Romana is awesome, Women Being Awesome, fashion and feathers in space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-29
Updated: 2011-04-29
Packaged: 2017-10-18 19:17:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/pseuds/lost_spook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor’s on the wrong planet and Blake’s blowing up the wrong target. More to the point, Romana, Jenna Stannis and Servalan are causing trouble in a futuristic fashion boutique. (Doctor Who/Blake's 7)</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's All Glamour And Guns In Outer Space

Roj Blake turned the corner on another endless white corridor, keeping to the wall, out of sight, as he raised his wrist to speak into the communicator.

“Hello there,” said an unexpected voice beside him, interrupting. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen a pretty girl anywhere, have you?”

He paused and looked at the improbable newcomer: wild, curly hair, clothes he couldn’t place anywhere in this system and an even unlikelier tin dog trailing along behind him. “Sorry, I’m busy.”

“Answers to the name of Romana,” he continued, undeterred. “Never mind. It’s not as if I didn’t tell her not to go wandering off on her own. Always leads to trouble, wouldn’t you agree?”

Blake frowned in suspicion and pulled out his weapon.

“Now, that’s not friendly,” said the stranger, backing away. Even more oddly, he seemed to be sulking.

*

Jenna Stannis was on a mission she would rather have avoided. It seemed to be her lot lately, although life as a rebel had its compensations. She straightened her outfit as if the thought reminded her – a burgundy, embroidered tunic, pulled in at the waist, more revealing at the top than she’d usually allow, but there were reasons. She had matching trousers and elegant, heeled boots. Her blonde hair fell in carefully styled waves around her shoulders, pulled back by a jewelled clip. Shame all this was wasted on the worm in front of her.

Bartol Theias was an old acquaintance, one she had no wish to renew, but when one fought for a cause, sacrifices had to be made. He was now ostensibly the owner of a lucrative collection of boutiques and fashion houses across several planets in the system – more civilised than their usual ports of call – so they did at least have something to talk about, but she’d told Blake she knew he was also behind more illegal activities that the Federation might be very interested to hear about. That gave them some leverage to extract a few favours themselves. However, Bartol had never had much in the way of nerve, so a little persuading was needed first, so here she was, sitting opposite him at a small square table in one of his more exclusive shops, flirting as he gave her a sneak preview of one of his protégés’ latest designs.

“Could be dangerous,” he said, as she sipped at her drink, something pink and sweet in a tall glass.

She raised an eyebrow, and then put a hand to his arm. “There would be rewards. Blake is a man of his word – and, of course, I’d be grateful.”

“Now you interest me,” he leered.

Jenna refrained from throwing the liquid in his face with an effort, forcing a smile instead. This had better be worth it. Personally, given the choice, she’d rather have gone with Blake to blow up the power plant.

*

It seemed to be a relatively civilised world, so Romana had gone shopping. She was not one to shirk from their mission, but until the Doctor chose to acknowledge the careless mistake he had made in setting the co-ordinates, and admitted that they were on the wrong planet, there wasn’t much else she could do. When she had walked away, he had still been insisting there was something wrong with the tracer. “Flat batteries,” had been his last excuse, so what else was she to do?

Of course, window shopping was what she was actually doing, given the extreme unlikelihood of the coins the Doctor having had to hand being the correct currency for this place and time, but she found that of sufficient interest to entertain her.

She was wearing a long purple dress that she noted didn’t appear to be typical of anything anyone else was wearing, so the Doctor’s labelling of his wardrobe clearly needed sorting like everything else on board. Romana examined the displays in the front of particularly lavish clothes store. She felt clothes spoke volumes about a civilisation. That some of them were, incidentally, very becoming to the educated Gallifreyan was purely accidental, of course.

It was there that she encountered a helpful man with an honest, open face, enjoying a short conversation on styles and colours.

A few minutes later, after recollecting the Doctor’s advice concerning men with honest, open faces, she checked her pockets carefully and found that the drawstring purse containing the coins was no longer on her person. She shook her head, then lifted her skirts and chased after him into a shop further along.

She hoped that this was not going to lead to more trouble, or she might regret not going after the Doctor. Although what one was supposed to do when he started trying to cover up for his mistake by claiming that he’d suddenly got wind of a plot to blow up a nearby power plant, when all he had to do was apologise nicely and take off with proper attention to details, she didn’t know.

*

Servalan, Supreme Commander of the Terran Federation, surveyed the uniformed man in front of her. “Did I express an interest in your power complex? I think not.”

“Ma’am, I’ve heard some disturbing rumours -.”

She shrugged delicately. “You should never listen to gossip, Captain. Besides, why should I be interested in your local difficulties? Do what you are paid to, and deal with it. I have a man to see about a business matter.”

“But, Ma’am -.”

She rolled her eyes. She was a striking woman, with closely cropped raven-dark hair and an impractical but shapely long, white dress, finished off by a cobweb-style collar threaded with glass beads. “Double the guard; do whatever it is you do when you have a minor security alert. Naturally, should you find there to be any substance to these rumours, I wish to be informed, but from what you tell me the only source of your story is an unstable individual whose standing you have not yet established. I suggest if you find nothing in the next hour that you have him shot. Now, do excuse me, Captain – it _is_ still Captain, I take it?”

She swept out, two guards escorting her on her mission to find a certain double-crossing rat named Bartol Theias and ruin his life.

*

By the time Romana stepped inside the establishment, her friendly thief had been pulled up by a shop security guard, who was roughly demanding an explanation for his attempted use of non-legal tender. “Fake money,” he added in disgust, in case his point hadn’t been clear enough.

She took in the scene, and then strode forward, giving the guard her best innocent smile. “Hello, officer. I think I can help. You see this _isn’t_ counterfeit money.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s not accepted in this establishment, miss.”

“Look, I handed that over in good faith,” said the thief. “I wanted that hat.”

They both directed a glare at him.

“Shut it,” said the guard.

Romana gave another smile, this one artistically uncertain. “As I’m sure you can see, I’m not from around here and I haven’t yet had the chance to exchange these for the proper currency. If you’d be so good as to return that purse, I shall do so right away. I’m terribly sorry about this.”

“You’re from outside the Federation?” he asked, frowning.

She decided to play it safe. “Well, not exactly, but we still trade in our traditional ‘lears’ at home, and I forgot. I hope you can forgive me, officer.”

“Well,” he said. “This once then, miss. As long as you take it and hand it in somewhere right off. Mind – that still means this little rat stole them off you. I knew he was trouble as soon as I saw him step inside.”

The thief – a shortish, brown-haired, brown-eyed man – gave Romana a hopeful smile.

She sighed. She could see that this tendency to take pity on underhand, engaging rogues with honest, open faces was one she must learn to ruthlessly trample on in future. “Of course not, officer. He is in my employ – I sent him on an errand, and, as I said, I had completely forgotten about the money.” She changed tack and drew herself up to become polite but haughty. “Now, unless you have anything else you wish to ask us, I suggest you be about your business.”

As he left, she glanced back at her undeserving companion.

“You’re a life-saver,” he said, with a grin. “Literally.”

She shook her head. “You should give up a life of crime, if you’re so bad at it.”

“If only I could,” he said, sighing, and seemingly serious now. “It’s like an illness with me – a compulsion they called it. I’ve seen them all, from psychotherapists to the best torture guys in the business. Nothing takes. Sad, but there it is.”

Romana raised her eyebrows. “Really? How fascinating. You know, I once wrote a paper on the origin of criminal tendencies in the alien psyche. Of course, I forget which particular species now, but an engrossing topic. Perhaps I could help?”

*

The door blew inwards; Federation guards striding in through the mess of smoke and shattering glass and flying pieces of silk and satin.

Jenna found herself on the floor behind a now broken table, with Theias rather too close for comfort. She turned her head to glare. “Bartol, if you don’t remove your hand from its current position, I may be forced to do something you’ll regret.”

He released her. “Always so touchy, Jenna.”

 _Damn_ , she thought. She’d have liked the excuse to stab him with the viciously large pin she had fastened into her belt. However, that wasn’t the problem. Someone knew she was here – or someone had finally caught up with Theias’s dodgy deals. She lifted her head, trying not to cough at the smoke – and saw who had now walked in.

“I’m finished,” whimpered Theias, at her side, spotting the newcomer at the same time. “She said she’d come for me if I didn’t stop my little games – said she had a use for my petty trading empire -.”

Jenna itched to slap him. “Quiet! If she sees me here, we’re both dead. You couldn’t have warned me, you snivelling little snake?”

“Jenna-.”

At that, she kicked him. “Shut up. You’re worse than -.” She stopped. “Vila!”

*

Romana’s conversation with her interesting new acquaintance was broken into by an explosion that knocked him flying and sent her falling against the nearest rack of clothes. This was followed by a pack of guards, who fired randomly into the shop, causing the little man on the floor at her feet to yelp. They were followed by a woman in white who certainly knew how to make an entrance.

“If she sees me,” said the thief, tugging at the edge of her skirt, “I’m finished. Dead – no worse – you wouldn’t believe the things they do to you. You, too, probably.”

She swung round, her skirts covering his escape back through the clothes hanging behind them. This, she thought, was very inconvenient. The Doctor would probably make comments about her getting into trouble again, which was completely unfair.

*

Jenna reached for her weapon without a word, watching the woman in the centre from her hiding place. She’d do what she could, but she didn’t like the odds.

That was when the woman who’d been talking to Vila stepped towards Servalan and held out a hand in greeting, giving her a smile. “Hello. I’m Romana. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but where did you get that dress? The line is exquisite – and I always find white is so difficult, but you carry it off to perfection-.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Servalan, turning her head to look at her properly.

The other – Romana – only smiled again. “Well, I assumed, coming in here in such a hurry – that you must take a great interest in fashion. Do tell me who made it for you – it really is quite stunning.”

“Hmm,” she said, eyeing Romana’s own outfit. “I can see why you might be in need of a tailor. You realise that style went out at least seventy years ago?”

“Did it?” asked Romana, widening her eyes. “Isn’t it funny how time flies?”

Servalan nodded to the nearest guard. “Keep an eye on her. I’m intrigued – I think we should have a talk later. It does at least take courage to flout the conventions. In the meantime, speaking of courage – or the lack of it – I intend to find that cringing rodent Theias and make him pay for his insolence.”

Beside Jenna, the man in question actually whimpered like a baby.

“Have some dignity,” she hissed at him, readying herself as Servalan looked around the room, the exclusive boutique in chaos, its few customers injured or trembling behind other make-shift shelters.

“Theias! Show yourself, you shiftless, grasping, craven fool!”

Jenna bit back a grim smile. “Sounds as if she knows you well.”

“Stop her,” he begged, “and I’ll do anything – _anything_ , I swear!”

She looked back down at him. “Too late, Bartol. You’ve not got anything left that could be of use to us, have you? I should have known this would be a waste of time.”

Across the room from them, Servalan nodded to a black-clad guard who fired randomly into the store.

“Come out, Theias!”

Before the guard could fire again, another ran into the building. “Ma’am!”

“Yes?” she said, without turning her attention from scanning the room.

He stopped. “Ma’am, there’s been trouble at the Power complex!”

 _Blake_ , thought Jenna, in instinctive alarm, but told herself that he and Avon would lose no time in getting themselves back to the Liberator if anything went wrong. _Avon_ certainly wouldn’t, she thought. It sounded as though everyone’s mission had failed.

“Very well,” snapped the Supreme Commander. “I shall return as soon as I can. In the meantime, round up everyone. If anyone tries to leave before that time, shoot them.” Then she turned on her high heels and exited with style.

Four guards, thought Jenna, with no one to give orders; Theias on her side, if he was use for anything, Vila somewhere, and maybe even the other woman.

The odds had improved.

She fired.

*

Servalan marched along the clinical, white corridors of the power complex, directly to the Captain’s office. Vonan, she recollected, since his name might soon be of importance to her, one way or the other.

“Captain,” she said, on arriving. “You summoned me here at a most inconvenient moment. I had assumed that at the very least to find visible damage to the building, if there was anything left of it. However, this does not seem to be the case. Perhaps you can explain this to me?”

“Ma’am -.”

“My business was of particular importance,” she continued. “Please, Captain – Vonan, isn’t it? Do tell me what crisis it is that causes not even the slightest sound of a siren, nor the merest hint of a scratch anywhere on your precious power complex?”

He couldn’t keep back a sneer. “Oh, I might have known a woman would be more interested in clothes.”

“Well,” said Servalan, smiling an amused and entirely insincere smile, “you do seem to be feeling suicidal today, Vonan. My business involved vital Federation matters – considerable criminal activity, no less. In any case, you have no right to question me. Speaking of which, you have still not explained your own conduct.”

He pulled at the corner of his jacket, straightening the uniform. “I – ah – my apologies, Ma’am.”

“I accept,” she said lightly. “However, no amount of apologies will alter the fact that you are a fool who is shortly to die. What happened here?”

“Ma-am – rebels – it was Blake!”

“Blake?” she said, her mouth curving back into a smile. “Excellent.”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am?”

“Why, yes,” she said. “Obviously, you have dealt with the intrusion and are now prepared to hand over the prisoner – or prisoners – to me.”

He swallowed, visibly growing purple. “Well, we had them, Ma’am, but they got away.”

“They … got away?”

He nodded. “It was that Doctor fellow!”

“The one who warned you about this plot?” she said. “How very odd. Are you sure, Vonan?”

The Captain shifted on his feet. “Yes, he warned us. Then afterwards, seems he went and stole those devices of theirs and gave them back to them.”

“Oh, I see,” she said, definite iron under the velvet. “And your guards simply stood there – or perhaps handed them over, along with the key, and a helpful agreement to look the other way, I assume?”

“Ma’am.”

She turned. “Vonan, you disrupted and endangered my mission only to report your own failure in letting one of the most notorious enemies of the Federation escape. I suppose one must be thankful that the complex is at least standing.” She motioned to the guards behind her. “Take this incompetent idiot away!”

“No,” he gasped, falling to his knees. “Ma’am, I haven’t explained. You see, it was -.”

She looked back once more, surprise evident in her face. “Vonan, grovelling will alter neither the facts nor my mind. You are a soldier – I suggest you don’t disgrace yourself any further by contriving to act like one.”

With that, she swept away.

*

Jenna fired again; two guards down, taken by surprise at resistance from a terrified handful of civilians and a notoriously cowardly criminal.

As she did so, Vila slipped out of his hiding place, pulling down the nearest of the other two with a yelp.

The last guard hesitated between the two attackers, but before he could decide, Romana took a hand.

“I wonder,” she said, completely calm, “if you could help me out here? You see, I’m not sure whether I should have the red or the green in this style. What do you think?”

He gaped, distracted only for a moment, but it was enough. Romana flung the garment in her hand over his head as Vila snatched at his fallen opponent’s gun and jabbed it firmly in the other man’s back, even as Jenna reached them in time to help Romana tie a long silk scarf around the soldier.

“I’m Romana,” she said as they tied the knots. “I’m not sure I understand what’s happening, but I think it might be time for us to leave.”

Jenna broke into a smile in return, putting her weapon away. “Yes, you’re right. If Servalan finds us here, she’ll think it’s her lucky day. Talking of which, Vila, why are you here anyway?”

“Hey, I said – I wanted that hat!”

She put her hands on her hips.

“All right, Blake said to give you the heads up to leave in fifteen minutes before there was any trouble from the explosion. I suppose that plan didn’t work out, either. Typical.”

Romana raised both eyebrows. “Interesting. And are you both terrorists, or engaged in a war – or do you work in demolition?”

“Sometimes all of them,” said Vila.

Jenna held out her hand. “Jenna Stannis. I like to think of it as ‘freedom fighters’ – rebels against the all-powerful and corrupt Federation.”

“Oh, I see,” said Romana, her smile brightening. “Good. The Doctor is always helping rebels overthrow governments. It seems very unlike him to have stopped you blowing things up in that case. I wonder what he was thinking?”

Vila nodded to Jenna. “Like she said – we should go. Now.”

“Yes,” said Jenna, putting a hand to the large bracelet on her wrist. Then she paused and grinned at Romana. “By the way, I like your dress.”

Moments later, they vanished. Romana exited in the more traditional fashion, through the door.

*

“But who was he?” Back on board the _Liberator_ , Avon paced about. “He could be a serious threat.”

Blake shrugged. “I don’t know. A fool by the looks of things.”

“A fool?” echoed the other. “If he broke the coding I programmed into that device, fool isn’t the word for it. He must have been a genius!”

Vila rolled his eyes. “Ever heard of modesty, Avon?”

He smirked. “Facts, Vila. Of course, with _you_ , modesty is hardly a virtue in any case.”

*

“Romana,” said the Doctor, opening the door to the TARDIS and leading the way back in, once they’d both met up outside it with almost perfect timing. “I think you were right. This wasn’t the planet we were aiming for. Terribly dull place, you know.”

“Really? I rather enjoyed it.”

He sighed. “Yes. Nothing but tedious corridors and earnest rebels. Of course, I hate to throw a spanner in the works but that particular explosion at this point in time – well, it could alter the future of the entire system. I couldn’t have that, could I?”

“Doctor,” said Romana, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work.”

“What?” He all but leapt back, pointing to himself. “Me?”

She folded her arms. “You’re trying to make me believe that you came here on purpose.”

“I _could_ have done,” he said, fighting with both his scarf and hat. “How would you know?”

Romana had to hand it to him, because she had no way of telling. With the Doctor, either answer was entirely probable. She only retrieved the tracer from him and replaced it in the console, and then announced that she was setting the co-ordinates _correctly_ this time, accurately estimating that his response to that would be equally interesting.

The TARDIS disappeared.


End file.
